


The Day Camelot Fell

by Medrawd



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 11:48:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5415797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medrawd/pseuds/Medrawd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is five years after Arthur's death, and Camelot -ruled by Gwen- is about to fall...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Despair

_The action takes place about five years after the last episode of Merlin_

 

“My queen, we can’t hold the northern gate much longer,” Sir Gingalain, Knight of Camelot stammered as he came staggering into the Great Hall, his haggard face contorted with pain. His breath came in ragged gulps, his cape was torn and caked with blood, his mail shirt had large holes in it, and he was bleeding from wounds to numerous to count. He managed to take a few more unsteady steps before his sword fell from his hand and it clattered loudly on the flagstones. Then he fell and died without another sound in front of a horrified Guinevere. More knights, also heavily wounded, came staggering into the Great Hall, all bearing the same message: Camelot was about to fall, the Saxons were too numerous, too strong. Slowly the floor turned crimson, the air became heavy with an oppressive sweet and metallic stench. Guinevere slumped on her throne and her trembling hands covered her eyes. “Arthur, Arthur, why did you have to die,” she lamented, rocking to and fro, hot tears now streaming down her face, “Why, why, why...”. She had never felt so alone in her life, never felt so afraid. “And I never got the chance to say farewell.” Arthur dead, Gwaine dead, Gaius and Merlin gone missing, and Percival, loyal and strong Percival gone too. He had never been able to come to terms with Gwaine’s death, and soon after that fateful day at Camlann five years ago he had silently gone away, a broken man consumed by inconsolable grief. “I need you Arthur, I need you so much,” Guinevere whispered.

Fierce fighting could now be heard in the hallways, the clanging of arms mixing with the shouts of the attackers and the dying groans of even more Knights of Camelot. Suddenly the doors were violently thrown open and a man came striding forth, clad in dirty leathers and furs and various bits of dented armour, the tip of his bloodied sword scraping the floor. Two more men came in, one nudging Sir Gingalain none too gently with the tip of his scruffy boot, rolling him over, another knight was dragged aside, creating a clear path towards the throne. The clamour of fighting had now stopped, and an eerie silence had descended over the Great Hall making the heavy footsteps of the man even more ominous.

“My queen,” he said mockingly as he reached the throne, and he made a florid and utterly contemptuous bow. Guinevere could smell his putrid breath, saw his yellow and brown teeth, some of them missing and all of them broken. Slowly and with great effort she rose, trying to look as regal as possible in the face of impending doom. Before Gwen could say anything, the man said: “I think you are sitting on my throne,” and he beckoned two of his warriors. “Take her away and throw her in some dungeon. And clean up this mess,” he shouted to no one in particular, waving to the fallen knights.

All her willpower, all her strength had fled now, and Gwen almost collapsed on the floor, but she managed to hold on to the throne, keeping her from falling. None too gently the warriors seized her by the arms and dragged her away, through the corridors and into the courtyard. For a brief moment she opened her eyes, but quickly closed them again, the image of the ghastly blend of red capes and red blood of hundreds of fallen Knights of Camelot was too much for her to bear. Finally they threw her in a dungeon and with a loud reverberating clang the grille closed, leaving Guinevere lying on the cold stone floor, all alone.

In the Great Hall King Maleagant of the Saxons plumped down on Arthur’s throne and laughed.

Camelot had fallen.

 

*

 

With great speed they urged on their horses, kicking op thick clouds of dust. It had not been an easy decision, leaving Camelot, leaving their queen in the lurch, locked in a dungeon, but there was no other option. The last remaining Knights of Camelot had fled, hoping to raise an army and retake Camelot one day soon. With pain in their hearts they had to abandon her, hoping she would still be alive when they would eventually return. “No use getting ourselves killed,” they had said, “better to flee now and regroup,” and so they rode on knowing full well they had broken their chivalric code, broken their oath to Arthur and Camelot and to the Round Table. They felt their hearts grieving and their eyes crying, and they all recalled the moment when they had so stealthily fled.

 

_Earlier that day_

“Have you all gone mad?” Gareth shouted, “Running away just like that, leaving our Queen behind?” His whole body quivered with rage, his hand gripped the hilt of his sword, ready to strike any moment as he looked with contempt at the four other Knights assembled at the postern gate, deep within the walls of Camelot and as yet undiscovered by the Saxons.

“Will you keep your voice down,” Gaharis whispered angrily, “Saxons have ears, you know!”

“The let them come, I say, let them come!”

“So what do you suggest, Gareth, stay here and get killed too?”

“Gaharis is right,” said Lamorak, “we can’t stay here, there are far too many Saxons for us to handle. We must leave Camelot and find reinforcements, raise an army. Only then may we be able to drive the Saxons away and retake Camelot and---“

“NO, it is wrong!” Gareth interrupted, “This goes against anything we have been taught, everything we Knights stand for, or had you conveniently forgotten that, SIR Lamorak?”

“I will never forget that, and one more remark like that…” whispered Lamorak through clenched teeth as he unsheathed his sword just a little bit. The air was heavy with tension as Gareth and Lamorak were all but ready to fight each other.

“We swore an oath, remember? An oath, a Knight’s Oath, to protect Camelot, the King, the Queen.”

“We all understand that, Gareth,” said Kay, trying to ease the tension, “and it pains us that we can’t uphold our code at this moment, but you must understand too that the best way to protect our queen is to go and find as many allies as possible. We can’t fight those Saxons alone, Gareth.”

“There are hundreds of them and only a handful of us. Use your head, Gareth, have you seen the courtyard lately? There are dead knights everywhere, Gareth, dead! And all of them died because they tried protecting our queen, defending our Camelot. And they were all killed, every last one of them. As much as it pains me to say this, but we can’t win this by ourselves, we have no choice but to go and find help.” Lamorak took Gareth by his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, pleading with his common sense.

“And if they really wanted to kill our queen, they would have done so already,” said Ywain. He had kept silent until now, being the youngest and the least experienced of them. “They will keep her alive for ransoming, I’m sure of it.”

“We have sworn to protect our queen,” Gareth said stubbornly, as if he was reciting a personal litany, “what you’re proposing is nothing short of treason. What would king Arthur say if he heard you talking like this? Do you think he would run away like an old maid?”

A sudden flash and the tip of Lamorak’s sword pressed into Gareht’s throat.

“Don’t, Lamorak, hasn’t there been enough killing?” said Kay as he took a step forwards.

“Do not speak to me of Arthur like that.” Lamorak’s words sounded grim and harsh, his eyes cold as steel. Slowly he lowered his sword and sheathed it again, keeping his eyes on Gareth all the time. Gareth touched his throat and felt droplets of blood on his fingers, felt them trickling down.

“So,” Kay said, “it’s either the five of us go, or it’s four. Your choice, Gareth, you can stay here and be heroically killed, or you can join us and---” Kay raised his hand and whispered: “Keep still, someone is coming.”

They all heard the sound of footfalls now, getting louder with every step. A shadow could be seen on the wall, and seconds later a limping figure came into view. Five razor-sharp swords were pointing at his chest.

“Roland,” Kay said, heaving a sigh of immense relief, “you’re still alive!” And the knights sheathed their swords. “What happened to you?”

“Those Saxon animals, Sir,” Roland, squire to Sir Kay, said with some difficulty, “they were having some fun with us squires, but that is not important now. All is ready, as we agreed.” And Roland tried to steady himself against the wall. One of his eyes was black and swollen shut, and blood still seeped from the strips of cloth bound on his wounded arms and legs. “There are horses waiting for you in the woods, I don’t think those Saxon animals noticed anything, it took us all night to get them there…” He faltered, closed his eyes and took a deep breath and groaned, as he was in great pain. “Broken ribs, I think, Sir Kay, nothing to worry about. But Aiden was not so lucky. Those animals caught him in the courtyard and they… and they… they broke his arms and kicked him about. I don’t think he’s alive anymore,” Roland stifled a sob, “and I couldn’t get to him, I’m really sorry, Sir Gaharis,” for Aiden was, or better had been, Sir Gaharis’ squire.

“You did well, Roland,” Gaharis said quietly, his voice unnaturally calm, vowing to avenge his squire.

“Any word on our queen?” Lamorak asked.

Roland nodded. “Still in the dungeons, Sir Lamorak, I’ve heard our queen is not hurt very much.”

“As we agreed?” came the strangled voice of Gareth, “as we agreed?”

“Good,” Lamorak said without bothering to answer Gareth, and he grabbed Roland’s shoulders, “I, we, have a task for you, Roland, an important one, and a dangerous one. Try to keep an eye on our queen, try to get some food to her, even if it means siding with those heinous Saxons, Offer your services to them if need be, but remember: you’re only doing this to save our queen, save Camelot.”

Gareth stood there seething, barely able to contain himself, hands opening and closing, as if he was trying to strangle someone.

“Now go, Roland, and be brave!” And Roland limped away as fast as he could. “And as for you, my dear Gareth,” Lamorak continued as he turned towards the enraged knight, “we did talk about this earlier this week, but you chose to furiously leave the room. Now let me make this simple for you: either you’re with us or against us. There are horses waiting, and those Saxon animals are still dead drunk from last night, going away undetected shouldn’t prove too difficult. You can come with us now or stay behind, at this moment I really don’t care.” With these words he turned his back on Gareth, opened the postern gate and ran as fast as he could to the edge of the forest. No Saxon arrow pierced his body, no warning bell sounded. He looked around and saw Gareth running behind the other three knights. “Good, a wise choice.”

Gareth kept silent. Suddenly they heard bells tolling. “I guess someone saw us after all,” Ywain said as they disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

 

And so, with ever increasing rapidity, they urged on their horses, those last Knights of Camelot: Kay, the brothers Gaheris and Gareth, Ywain and Lamorak, hoping to find a kingdom still bound by friendship to Camelot and not overrun by the Saxons, and on their flight they passed many a village razed to the ground; and the stench of burned flesh and rotting corpses lingered in their noses by day, the images of maimed women and children haunted them at night.


	2. Forlorn

By sunrise he came out of the woods as he did every morning. Long unkempt dark hair he had, and a dirty beard framing a gaunt face, skin stretched taut over his cheekbones, sunken eyes darting to and fro. Thin as a rake he was, his once-red tunic torn and dirty, and there were holes in his boots. Every morning he came here, to the shores of the Lake of Avalon and every day you could see him walking by the lake, his eyes forever on that small island in the middle, and every night he disappeared again into the woods as he has done for a long time now. The Wild Man of the Woods they called him, and some say they had heard him mutter words in a strange language, the same words over and over again, but what it meant they knew not. Some made fun of him, driving their carts with great speed as they passed him by, laughing and booing, narrowly missing him, but he never missed a stride, he kept on walking, oblivious to the world around him. Even the Saxons left him in peace, that crazy Wild Man of the Woods.

Sometimes he went to a cave, hidden deep within the forest, far from prying Saxon eyes. An old man lived there, very old and very wise. We know each other, the man had said numerous times, we know each other very well, but remembering it he did not. When he came to visit he just sat there, never saying a word, slurping the thin and tasteless soup the man usually gave him. He was kind, this Gaius as the man called himself, very kind. After finishing the soup, he invariably sat on the only bed, knees drawn up to his chin, arms around his legs and the man told him stories. Tonight Gaius will tell him a story he must have heard many times before, a tale of who he is and why they came here, but remembering it he did not.

“It happened over five years ago now I think,” Gaius said and there was a deep sadness in his voice now, “five long and lonely years ago. You were the servant of Arthur, king of Camelot. Great friends the two of you were, loyal to each other, respecting each other, regardless of ancestry. A young man of noble birth and a young man of humble origins, brought together by destiny.

“But you were so much more. You were born with magic in a time when magic was forbidden. Still is I should think. And your magic was strong, far stronger than anyone could imagine, stronger than even you could imagine. Many times with that magic you saved Arthur’s life and he never knew it. It was your destiny.”

He sat there, listening and drinking nice cool water, but remembering it he did not.

“Then one day disaster struck. In a fierce battle Arthur was mortally wounded. You brought him at great peril to yourself to the Isle of Avalon so he could heal from his wounds, but you were too late and Arthur died in your arms. Such a tragic day that was, with so many of our friends dead or dying. So, after you had gently laid down Arthur’s body in a boat, it floated to the Isle of Avalon and then you came back to Camelot. Mad with grief you were, mad with inconsolable grief. You thought you had failed your destiny, that Arthur’s death was all your fault.”

He nodded and his sunken eyes seemed to drink in each and every word Gaius told him, but remembering it he did not.

“It was not long after that, that we were forced to flee. It was getting far too dangerous for us in Camelot. Magic was still outlawed, no matter how hard Gwen tried to make magic accepted, but there were too many knights who were against magic, having been told to detest magic too many times by Uther and later by Arthur. Perhaps they were afraid of it too, anyway, one day a witchfinder came to Camelot, one of Aredian’s pupils as I found out later, and this one was good, oh so very good…” Gaius shuddered at the thought, and he saw again all those innocent people being beheaded or burned at the stake. He closed his eyes for a moment, unable to continue his story; and all the time Merlin sat there, listening.

“So one night we managed to flee, that witchfinder knew who you were, and he wanted you dead. We finally came here, I knew this place of old. You were still so broken-hearted, day after day you would just sit here, crying, and night after night you woke up screaming, do you remember?”

He just shook his head as he sat there, listening. Gaius was playing with a crude little wooden dragon, hoping it would trigger some memories in Merlin, for it was the dragon Merlin’s father Balinor had once made for him, so many years ago now.

“Slowly I started to lose you, Merlin, you were getting more and more depressed, building wall after wall around you, completely shutting yourself off from this world. Then one day you started to lose your magic, very slowly at first, and hardly noticeable, but losing it you did, making you even more depressed, and the more you lost your magic, the less you talked and one day you simply stopped talking altogether. I no longer could get through to you, Merlin, and then one day you were gone, gone for a few days, and as that happened more and more I followed you one day and I saw you walking by the lake, never stopping, gazing over the water. And now you are gone every day and almost every night.”

I don’t remember my name being Merlin, he thought.

“And now you have been walking there for almost five years, hoping for Arthur to return. Merlin, I felt so sad for you, but nothing I said or did had any effect on you, your mind was closed to all but yourself and it still is I’m afraid. I tried to help you, but in vain. I even tried magic, but to no effect, your mind was closed even to that. But one day you will remember, one day you will realise that Arthur is gone forever, one day you will be Merlin again.”

Arthur will come back, Merlin thought, I know he will, I’ve seen it.

That he did remember.

 

*

 

She did not know what day it was, she did not even know if it was day or night, for the dungeon was deep underground, no sunlight could penetrate there, there was only the chill rising up from the ground, making Gwen’s bones colder with every passing day, despite the straw that had been put on the floor. From time to time her guard, Ned his name was, came with some food and water.

“There you are, little princess,” he would say, flinging down a bowl of water, and precious drops sloshed over the rim into the densely packed mud of the floor; followed by a bowl of watery soup with a few pieces of stringy meat floating in it, and a piece of stale black bread. Quickly she gulped it all down, trying not to think what sort of meat it was. There was shouting outside her cell, and she saw Ned punching another guard. “Don’t you dare hurt her, or even touch her,” he shouted, “Maleagant wants her in one piece and alive, unlike you, remember Alfric!” And Gwen did remember: Alfric had tried to hit her repeatedly with a sharp stick, just for fun, and Ned had made sure Alfric could never hurt her again, by killing him where he stood. Another blow and the guard got hurled against the grille of her cell, followed by a kick from Ned. Gwen recoiled, but she also knew she was safe. And every day she got the same food; enough to keep her alive, but not enough to satisfy her hunger.

 

The noise in the dungeons was deafening. Every cell was filled with prisoners, and more were coming in every day. People from all over the kingdom of Camelot, innocent people. They fought over crusts of bread thrown into the cells, tearing it from each other’s mouths even. Sometimes the guards took people away, they shouted, pleaded, fought, resisted, but to no avail. They were taken away, never to be seen again. She heard talk of villages looted and burned to the ground. She heard talk of Ealdor and cupped her hands over her ears, she did not want to hear the fate of her beloved Ealdor, her beloved friends.

So Gwen lay there, listening and thinking, hoping for a miracle that may never come, hoping for Arthur’s return, and her thoughts went back some years ago, to the time of Arthur’s demise. It has been so difficult, Gwen thought, so very difficult, those first few months after my beloved Arthur’s death. I never even got the chance to see him after Camlann, I never had the chance to say good-bye. The knights had been helpful, giving advice on how to rule the kingdom. They had, after all, sat with my husband on all matters of state, they knew so much... they have done so much... I tried to rule just and fair and I think I succeeded. The people of Camelot lived in peace, trading was good, our alliances with other kingdoms were strong. Life simply went on as before, for the citizens of Camelot I was their strong queen, keeping Arthur’s legacy alive, but for me it was all a play: I may have been a queen during the day, but I was a grieving widow at night, every night.

And then one day the Saxons came.

 

But Camelot was strong and they could not take our kingdom by force, so they planted spies and instigators in the outlying villages, and even within the castle itself. They sometimes poisoned our food and water, set fire to our houses, killing our men at night. We found them out eventually, but by then it was almost too late. Camelot by then was corrupted from within, its foundations were shaking. And it was during those times that Gaius and Merlin disappeared. It must be almost five years now. A witchfinder came, finding sorcerers everywhere and having them killed. Nobody had seen Gaius and Merlin, nobody knew where they went, if they were taken, or where they were taken. I don’t even know if they are still alive or not.

And Leon, strong and loyal Leon, went missing too, but whether he was dead of captured to be ransomed later nobody knew, for his body was never found, and no request for ransom ever came.

But Camelot remained strong, we survived somehow and we defeated the Saxons time and time again, but all the fighting had taken its toll and Camelot started to grow weaker and weaker, and eventually the Saxons won, and now some brute is sitting on the throne, my throne, Arthur’s throne, but Arthur is dead, so many people are dead and Merlin and Gaius must be dead too, and soon I will be dead and there will be no more Camelot and...

Tears came to her eyes again and Gwen cried herself to sleep, oblivious to all the noise around her.


	3. Hope

And northwards the Knight rode, stopping only to rest the horses or to rest themselves. They ate whatever meagre rations they could find, for the land was a wasteland, and they filled their water-bottles at every stream they came across. This land was free of Saxons, there were no more villages or supplies left for them to plunder. And so they finally came to the kingdom of Dinas Emrys which was still unspoiled, the Saxons had not yet come this far north. They rode until they reached the castle known as the Castle of the Pond of Dragons and asked for an audience with King Ban, for he had always been loyal to Camelot. They were asked to wait, and they could see dozens of archers behind the crenellations, watching them, ready to fire a volley of arrows should the knights make one false move.

They did not have to wait long. The drawbridge was lowered and the Knights, tired and hungry, rode into the inner courtyard where they were met with numerous fully armoured knights, swords drawn. King Ban was not taking any chances, for the Saxons could easily come to his castle too. Kay, Lamorak, Gareth, Gaharis and Ywain raised their hands, showing they came in peace. For a moment nobody moved, then a knight of king Ban nodded curtly, sheathed his sword and said: “Welcome Sirs,” and to his squire: “Take their horses and look after them well. See that they are fed and watered and be sure to groom those horses with great care and attention. Sir Knights, please follow me. King Ban is very anxious to speak with you, but perhaps you would like to freshen up first?”

“Thank you good sir,” Sir Kay said, “a little water perhaps, but it is better if we speak with King Ban first.”

And so with great haste they were shown into King Ban’s chambers. “My good Sirs, I have heard of the terrible Saxon attacks in the south. I gather there is something very wrong or you would not be here,” Ban said without preamble.

“Indeed Sire,” Kay said, “I am afraid Camelot has fallen into the hands of the Saxons. Guinevere our Queen is held prisoner in Camelot. We saw no other way than to leave Camelot and seek help.” With these words Lamorak looked at Gareth, but the latter did not show any emotion. Lamorak relaxed just a little bit. “The Saxons are making a stronghold in the south first it seems,” continued Kay, “before heading north and they will head north, of that I am sure, parts of the land has already been plundered. It is therefore that we stand here before you today, Sire, pleading that you, and all those who are loyal to you and to Camelot, will raise an army to retake Camelot and restore peace in our lands once more. This, Sire, we humbly ask of you. Together we can drive that Saxon vermin from our kingdoms. For if we do nothing, more and more kingdoms will fall, and those Saxons will rule over our beloved Albion.”

Ban sat quiet for a while, lost in thought. Finally he said: “My head knows you are right but my heart is worried. Many lives will be lost, including many of my own men.”

“Too many lives have already been lost Sire, lives of innocent children, innocent women. We all must unite now to save all those who are still alive, including your own citizens.”

“Yes...” Silence again. “Very well. I will sent envoys to the neighbouring kingdoms and urge them to come to your aid, to our aid. We hold Camelot in high esteem, for you have helped us in the past, and Arthur has always been a honest king, just as Guinevere is a worthy queen. Besides, as you said, one day they will be heading north, and that day will soon be upon us. Now, allow me to have you escorted to your chambers for a hot bath and hot food. We will talk further of this on the morrow. I must make preparations now”

The knights bowed deep.

“Thank you King Ban,” Kay said, “You truly are a wise and just king.”

 

*

 

Merlin, the Wild Man of the Woods, had a dream one night. He dreamt of apple-trees and he saw one in blossom, but that could not be, for it was not the right season. Dark red those blossoms were and flecked with gold, and they were growing and growing and suddenly he was a little stamen in the heart of a giant red-and-gold blossom and he heard his name: _“Merlin”._ He looked around but he saw nobody and again an impatient whisper: _“Merlin!”_ Then those golden flecks began to grow and they were golden dragons now, golden dragons on a field of red and the voice whispered again, urgent now: _“Merlin!!!”._ The blossom started dissolving and Merlin felt himself falling and falling, forever falling and now he is lying in a boat, in a bed, in an orchard and he is hearing _“MERLIN!!!”_ all around him, shouting, whispering, pleading and then silence.

He woke up screaming and drenched in sweat, but still he could hear it, the whispering. He slept no more that night.

But the dreams kept haunting him, and on that night, after Gaius had told his story and he slept in the cave again once more, lying on soft and fragrant leaves and ferns, he heard the voice again: _“Merlin…”._ The voice reverberated in his skull, getting louder and louder; _What am I going to do with you Merlin. You had to open your mouth didn’t you Merlin. Don’t be such a girl Merlin. Describe dollop-head // in two words? // yes // Prince Arthur_. And the pounding in his head became almost unbearable and then he saw a face, very vague it was, and yet very familiar, and the face smiled. Merlin’s eyes flew open, he sat straight up in bed and there stood a man eating an apple. “You’re completely useless aren’t you Merlin, you must be the worst servant ever,” he said and took another bite, “How many times did I have to call you, but did you listen? No Merlin, you did not. As usual.”

“Arthur,” Merlin said, trying to get nearer to him, “Arthur, you’re back,” and a huge smile lit up his face.

“Almost. When you see the apple-tree in blossom, come and find me there.” With these words he started to fade. Merlin tried to say something, but Arthur had vanished completely.

And then Merlin remembered it all.

 

The next morning, at first sunlight, Merlin jumped from his pallet and exclaimed: “He’s coming back. Arthur’s coming back, Gaius.”

Gaius, still sleepy and only half awake, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He sat there, stunned. “Merlin, you’re talking again,” he said, emotion creeping into his voice and a tear glistened on his cheek, but all he heard was Merlin’s voice, and not his words. He placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, beaming. “You’re talking again. What was it that you said?”

“I saw him. Arthur. He’s coming back.” And without another word or glance, Merlin hastened away, leaving a perplexed Gaius behind. You saw Arthur? Where? When? He shook his old head, Merlin must have been dreaming again, poor boy.

 

*

 

There, in a cave, on a bed made of pure gold, he motionless lay. Blond hair framed his waxen face and on his naked chest scars could be seen, scars from grievous wounds, wounds that had almost killed him. Nine women stood by the bed, the nine sisters they were.

“He is almost healed,” they chanted in unison, “he is almost there.” Their slender hands wove patterns in the air and their mouths mumbled spells of healing as they had done for many years now. They had seen the little boat as it floated towards the Isle of Avalon, a place of lakes and woods and lush meadows. They had seen Merlin standing by the shore. They had seen the tears on his face and the tears in his soul. Gently the nine sisters had taken the grievously wounded king from the boat and laid him on the golden bed, and without further ado they had started the healing, for the spirit of King Arthur had almost fled his body. And for many a day and many a night they chanted their spells, for they knew the prophesy of the king who one day must return.

“He is reaching out,” they said, “he is reaching out to his most loyal servant, his most loyal friend,” and never did their chanting waver. “He is getting stronger,” they said, “soon he will depart from here and rule Camelot once more,” and they sensed Arthur desperately reaching out to Merlin. They let their energy flow into Arthur so he may reach Merlin and tell him of his return. They closed their eyes and they saw Arthur and Merlin together. The nine sisters then spoke as one through Arthur and said: “When you see the apple-tree in blossom, come and find me there”, for they knew when the apple-tree would be blossoming and they knew Arthur would at that very moment be completely healed again. Then they felt their strength fleeting and they withdrew. On the golden bed Arthur peacefully lay and his pale lips were starting to colour slightly red.

 

*

 

“Have you heard?” the man said as he came storming into the dimly lit tavern, “Have you heard?” and he breathlessly leaned over a table, “There’re coming!” He ran to another table. “There’re coming! We’re doomed! We’re doomed!”

“What are you talking about, Eadweard, calm down will you, who’s coming? The tax collectors?” Laughter erupted.

“No, even worse, the Saxons… the Saxons are coming. I heard them talking…”

“Who, the Saxons?” More laughter, but it was a nervous and tense laughter, for they all had heard the rumours of the Saxons marching north, of villages razed to the ground, crops burned and villagers killed; and they saw knights and soldiers exercising more than usual, but they choose to push it aside in their minds.

Eadweard took a tankard of ale and downed it in one gulp, shaking visibly now, but whether from fear of anger, that they could not tell.

“Calm down and sit down,” the patron said as he gave Eadweard another tankard of ale.

“There came knights in king Ban’s the castle, knights of Camelot, the last knights they say, well, that’s what I’ve heard from the cook who heard it from the bottler who heard it from---”

“Come on, Eadweard, we get the picture!”

“Camelot has fallen…” There was no laughter now, only deathly silence descended as his words sunk in.

“No, that can’t be,” one of the men said, “Camelot can never fall, it just can’t.”

“If Camelot has fallen, all is lost,” another one said gloomily.

“Are you sure?”

Eadweard nodded. “Yes. The Saxons are heading north, or so they say, and the knights of Camelot are trying to gather a huge army to retake Camelot, and drive the Saxons away, or so I’ve heard from the cook.”

 

The man sitting quietly in a dark corner slowly put down his tankard, for by the word “Camelot” his sunken and lifeless eyes had suddenly got a tiny spark of life. He wiped his hands on his faded, sleeveless red gambeson. “Camelot in danger?” he muttered, shaking his head. He stood up and grabbed Eadweard by his tunic, lifting him effortlessly off the floor. “Tell me more,” he said hoarsely, his faces mere inches from Eadweard’s, “what’s that about Camelot you’ve just said.”

“Please, master Percival, please put me down.” And Percival lowered him onto the floor, and he felt ashamed for treating Eadweard thus.

“I know no more, master Percival,” he said, smoothing his wrinkled tunic, “this all the cook told me, the Saxons have seized Camelot, and there are horrible things afoot if the Saxons come here.”

“And Gwen, queen Guinevere, what have you heard about her? Tell me, please tell me!”

“I don’t know, master Percival, but I heard the cook say that she is still alive. Locked up, but alive, but please, master Percival, I don’t know for certain, please believe me.”

“I believe you,” Percival muttered, and for a moment he was standing there like a man unsure of what to do next. “I must go to the caste, I must join that army.” He threw a few coins on the table to pay for his ale. “I must help save Camelot,” and with these words he ran from the tavern, towards the castle. For almost five years he had lived there, in this little village far from Camelot, wallowing in his misery, trying to forget Camlann, trying to forget Gwaine’s death, Arthur´s death, and failing miserably, for not a day went by without him thinking of that fateful and atrocious day. He slowed his pace, panting, for all those years of inactivity had made him weak, and he tired easily; and with great effort he finally reached the gate. “Percival, knight of Camelot, offers his services to the king,” he barked, banging with all his might on the heavy door. “Please, let me speak to king Ban!”

“You a knight?” the gatekeeper chuckled, for he knew the man who stood before the gate, a man who did nothing but drink all night and sleep all day, and who was never seen holding a sword, let alone using one. “Everyone can put on a red gambeson and claim they’re a knight of Camelot.”

“Open this gate right now,” Percival hollered, getting more and more angry, “I challenge you, sir, just give me a sword and you’ll find out soon enough that I’m a true knight!”

“Right,” the gatekeeper said, getting bored now, and he opened the little door in the gate, saying: “you may come in now.” And if you are a Knight of Camelot, the gatekeeper thought, those knights who are now conferring with King Ban will know you, if not, they will surely mock you and taunt you and chase you away, and you will be running back to the tavern where you belong. “You will be wanting to go to the Great Hall, where King Ban will hold audience, so please present yourself to the steward.”

“I know how it works,” Percival said curtly, and with great strides he traversed the courtyard, headed for the Great Hall. He did not hear the gatekeeper’s scornful laughter.


	4. Awakening

“Hello, my princess, how are you today?” came the grating voice of Maleagant, the words reverberating off the cold, stone walls. He halted right in front of Gwen’s little dungeon cell, lips curled in a sneering smile. “Lovely day today. Oh, wait, you can’t see that of course. How sad…,” and a opprobrious laughter followed his words. “I have a present for you…” He beckoned to one of the guards and opened the grille. The guard threw something large and heavy into her cell and immediately the grille was closed again. “How about that, it almost looks like a knight. Have fun,” Maleagant said with a voice dripping with sarcasm, and his derisive laughter filled the dark corridor as he walked away. All the while Gwen had sat there, in a corner of her dungeon cell, not speaking nor reacting to Maleagant’s words, but haughtily looking at him, showing him she was not afraid, she was still the rightful queen of Camelot. As soon as the noise died down, and there were no more footsteps to be heard, she carefully took a few tentative steps to what must be a human being. “Hello,” she whispered, and involuntarily took a step back as the man, for it surely must be a man she thought, groaned softly. Gwen took a deep breath and tried again: “Hello. I’m Gwen.” The man groaned again, as if in great pain. Gwen knelt and touched his shoulder, for the man was lying face down on the floor. “My queen,” the man said with great difficulty, as he slowly turned his head. “It’s me.” Gwen took the bowl of water and moistened his cracked and bloody lips, and then she brushed the hair aside that was obscuring his face; and then she saw his face: “Leon,” she exclaimed, “it is truly you. What have they done to you?”

“Beat me up a little,” Leon managed to say, “Need rest,” and his eyes started to close.

Gwen found herself unable to move him, so she put some straw under his head instead. Leon didn’t even notice it as he drifted into sleep.

 

After what seemed like an eternity to Gwen, Leon finally woke up. He groaned again as he tried to move, but he kept trying. With much difficulty he managed to sit up and crawl a few feet to the wall so he could rest his back against it. He was panting heavily, and Gwen noticed he dragged his left leg behind him. “Oh, Leon,” she whispered, “what have they done to you? And what have they done to your leg? Here, I’ve got a bit of soup left. It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got. There will be more tonight.”

Thankfully accepted Leon the cold and watery soup and gulped it down. “Thank you, my lady,” he said, “That vermin of a so-called king said there are no more knights, I’m the last one it said, but not for long, and that they would bring me to you. The queen and her champion, that fraud befouling your throne said, the last remains of Camelot, slowly rotting away. I am, however, still quite shocked to see you here, my queen, and not sitting on the throne, where you belong. Pray tell me, my lady, are those Saxon rats treating you well?”

“I am alive, Leon, alive and unhurt. But please, tell me your story. And why did they put you here?”

Leon slowly shook his head. “I don’t know, my lady---”

“Gwen, please call me Gwen.”

“Gwen… I don’t know. They must have put me here for a reason. To get information perhaps, they might be listening, or it is simply their warped sense of fun, I don’t know anymore,” and he started to whisper just in case. “And if that thing on your throne wanted us dead, he would have done so already. As for me, it happened a few years ago, two, three, I don’t know anymore, while I was patrolling the outlying villages when suddenly a sack was thrown over me and I got hit on the head. When I woke up, I found myself in a dirty and rat-infested dungeon. It turned out to be a Saxon stronghold in the south, and they wanted information from me, information regarding Camelot. How many knights there were, how was it defended and so on. I will spare you all the details, my la… Gwen, but I did not betray Camelot, although the pain they inflicted almost made me. So after a few weeks they finally threw me back into the dungeon, more dead than alive, yet somehow they wanted to keep me alive, and I’ve been planning to escape ever since.” Leon’s voice faltered, his strength had all but left him and he breathed heavily now. Sweat had broken out on his now very pale face. Gwen offered him a little water.

“Please rest awhile, Leon, we will talk later.”

 

“And at some point some Saxon vermin broke my leg, and it never healed properly. I tried to do it myself. The pain was unbearable, and I didn’t have the right tools, but I managed alright. I can still walk, and ride a horse if need be. And I finally managed to escape, after all those years in the dungeons. It took me months to get to Camelot, weak as I was, and as I was hiding in the woods, a Saxon rat saw me and captured me. I am sorry, Gwen, but I was exhausted and I didn’t have much strength left. Some knight of Camelot am I, letting myself captured like that!” Leon felt ashamed now, ashamed for letting Gwen down, letting Camelot down. He spoke no more, and turned his face from Gwen’s.

“It’s alright, Leon, you’re here and we’re both still alive. I’m sure everything will turn out fine,” but the tone of her voice said otherwise.

 

And then one day, not long after Leon was captured and thrown in Gwen’s dungeon, a great tumult broke out, and they could hear heavy stones pounding the walls of Camelot, and frantic yelling and screaming; and they looked at each other with both hope and fear in their eyes.

 

*

 

“So you’re the great Percival,” Ywain said with a haughty voice, “I’ve heard so much about you,” and he looked disdainfully at Percival, for he had heard the tales of Percival’s flight, how he had ran away like a coward under the cover of a moonless night.

“Percival,” Gareth said curtly, and turned his back on him, pretending to admire a tapestry. Gaharis and Kay just stood there without speaking. Only Lamorak smiled, clasped Percival’s arms and hugged him. “It’s good to see you again, old friend,” he said.

“Friends don’t run away,” Ywain said, and his tone was scornful and full of barely contained disdain, “Friends stay loyal to their comrades, to their king and queen, to Camelot.”

Percival stiffened, his eyes hardened, but he kept his calm, albeit with great effort.

“Let them,” Lamorak whispered, “they weren’t there, they don’t know anything,” and then: “Yes, Percival left Camelot and personally I don’t blame him. Do you have any idea how hard it is to see all those you love die? He had seen how his family got slaughtered, and then all those deaths at Camlann. And you, Ywain, you weren’t even with us back then, you don’t know all he’s been through! And don’t forget, Percival had been a knight for only a short time, and seeing all those deaths all around him was too much to handle, so no, I don’t blame him, and I still consider him my friend!”

“Thank you,” Percival whispered, and then, facing the knights, he exclaimed: “Yes, I went away, and for a very good reason. Arthur, my king and my friend, was dead; Gwaine, the bravest knight there ever was, was dead too, and I was the one who held him as his last breath left him.” Percival saw it all again and his eyes became moist; he felt once again holding Gwaine’s head in his hands, foreheads touching, and he felt Gwaine’s skin rapidly losing warmth, and then his eyes went dead and his skin turned cold as ice. He saw himself sitting there, frozen in time, cradling Gwaine’s head in his hands, rocking to and fro; and then he suddenly saw the burned and razed village of his parents again, and he felt surrounded by the ghosts of all his loved ones. “Pecival,” he heard, a whispering voice in the distance, “Percival, are you alright?” Slowly the world came into focus again and Percival, in a broken voice, continued: “I had nothing left to live for, and so I went away. You think it was wrong, and maybe it was, but it was the only thing I could do at the time, and now the time has come for me to fight for Camelot once more.”

“I’m sure you can still use a sword,” Kay said as he walked towards Percival and offered him his hand. Percival took it.

“True Knights of Camelot do not run away,” Gareth said, “Never!”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you, don’t you have a Camelot to defend?” Percival was really getting upset now, for Gareth’s unbending words had cut deep into his very soul.

“That’s different,” Gareth exclaimed, turning red and he clenched his fists, ready to attack Percival.

“Really… Care to explain?”

Without warning, Gareth’s fist slammed into Percival’s gut, and almost immediately Gareth felt Percival’s fingers clutching his throat, squeezing hard.

“That’s enough!” Lamorak thundered, his fist slamming on a table, “I won’t have you fighting amongst yourselves. What are you? Barbarian Saxons? We are knights, so let’s start acting like knights instead of a bunch of spoiled children! For once, let the past lie in the past, and look to the future: how to retake Camelot! I’m not asking you to be friends for life, but at least try to behave like knights!”

There was great tension in the air now, as Gareth, nursing his throat, once more turned his back on Percival, but Gaharis reluctantly offered Percival his hand, which he, Percival, gladly took, and the Ywain did likewise, which made Percival glad, for wanted nothing more than be friends with them all, even Gareth.

 

*

 

Every day, from dusk to dawn, Merlin sat by the lake, and never did his eyes stray from that single apple-tree, but blossom it did not. And every night he slept fitfully, waking up countless times, but there were no blossoms to be seen.

And on the tenth day, as the sun slowly ascended from the calm water of the Lake of Avalon, lifting the veil of an airy mist, he saw on the apple-tree one tiny bud which was about to burst. His heart filled with joy and his eyes filled with tears. “Arthur can’t see me like this,” he mumbled and with a sharp knife he cut off his long and unkempt beard and scraped clean his chin the best he could. Then he cut his hair and when he saw himself reflected in the water he almost felt like the old Merlin again. And on the apple-tree more and more buds appeared, and soon the tree was in full bloom. The sweet scent filled his nostrils and made him dizzy. Gently the blossoms swayed in the breeze and Merlin felt more emotions in him then he could handle. He was overjoyed with the prospect of seeing Arthur again, for he knew in his heart his dream had been real. Feverishly he paced up and down the shore, never straying far from the apple-tree which was so heavy with blossom now. Slowly the sun rose higher and higher and it warmed Merlin’s skin and bones.

Then he saw it: from afar the prow of a small boat appeared. Slowly, very slowly, the rest of the boat came into view and it glided towards the shore, hardly making a ripple in the water. Merlin’s heart sank and his heart turned ice-cold, for he saw no Arthur in the boat. And he started softly lamenting as the boat floated nearer and nearer until it reached the shore. Merlin, with great fear in his heart, ran towards it, but when he reached the boat he saw Arthur lying there, his new mail shirt sparkling in the sunshine, his sword lay across his chest, his breathing was calm, his face serene and full of life.

“O Arthur,” Merlin sobbed, “Arthur, you have come back,” his fingers brushed Arthur’s cheek and a salty tear fell on Arthur’s lips. Then Arthur woke up.


	5. Joy

And every day more and more knights and men-at-arms came to Dinas Emrys, the kingdom of king Ban. There was king Caradoc of Cambenic, and he brought with him five hundred knights in full armour. And there was king Brandegorre of the Distant Isles with one thousand men-at-arms all clad in sparkling, finely linked mail shirts, and it was a wonderful sight to behold; and they all encamped on the fields surrounding the Castle of the Pond of Dragons, for thus was king Ban’s castle called. And there was king Tradelmant of Estrangorre, with two thousand men in iron armour, carrying shields and lances. And when the Knights of Camelot saw all this, their hearts filled with joy and pride, for they knew the Saxons could be beaten.

Soon the fields were completely covered with tents and pavilions of all sizes and colours, and countless banners were to be seen waving in the wind; and numerous campfires were lit, and the air was soon filled with smoke and fragrant smells of roasting meat. And still more allies were coming: there was king Alan of Caerwent, who brought with him eight hundred men all riding good horses; and king Belinant of Ebrauc came with seven hundred ironclad men, all fully armed.

 

And so the army left King Ban’s kingdom, but the pace was slow, for there were many carts laden with helms and hauberks, swords and maces, food and livestock; and there were carpenters, blacksmiths, bakers, cooks, jesters, jongleurs, druids and physicians; and several imposing trebuchets drawn by spans of fine, strong oxen; and there were many men-at-arms, foot soldiers and knights, too numerous to count. “For Albion,” they all yelled, “for Camelot!”

 

*

 

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered anxiously, all but fainting from happiness at the sight of his king, his friend, alive again, after so many years of tormented uncertainty.

“Wha…” Arthur croaked, but speech did not come easily, for he had not spoken for five years.

“Don’t talk, don’t talk. Oh, Arthur, you’re back, I knew it, I…,” and his voice broke.

“Water,” Arthur managed to utter in a weak and rasping voice.

Merlin quickly took his water-bottle and carefully let a small trickle of cool water fall onto Arthur’s lips.

“I can’t remember…,” Arthur whispered, “There was… was… Mordred… darkness… voices…” His eyes closed again as he tried to remember what had happened to him.

“What am I doing in a funeral barge?” Arthur suddenly exclaimed, “Mordred, I… I…” His voice faltered as he now remembered those fateful last minutes, those last minutes, last seconds, the sword Mordred had thrust through his body, a wave of excruciating pain, and then a deep, dark nothingness; and now he saw in his mind nine women hovering above him, but who they were he did not know. His hands glided hurriedly over his mail-clad body, trying to find any holes in it, trying to find those mortal wounds inflicted by that treacherous Mordred, but finding them he did not, nor did he feel any pain or saw any blood. “Merlin,” he whispered, and there was sudden fear in his eyes, “Merlin, what’s happened?” He sat up, clutching the sides of the boat as he tried to stand, but his legs buckled and he fell down. He tried again, and with great effort he managed to disembark, and Merlin proved to be a great help, supporting his limp body. Leaning heavily on Merlin’s shoulder, they stumbled towards some trees and bushes where Arthur laid down again, his back resting against a tree, hidden from view, and there he lay for a long time.

“Have you been mucking the horses? Arthur finally asked, smiling faintly, “You look terrible. There’re holes in your boots, your tunic is all faded and torn, and what’s with the stubble?”

Merlin had to laugh, a nervous laugh, for he still didn’t know how to tell Arthur the truth about what really did happen.

“I keep seeing images,” Arthur said, “strange images. What has happened, Merlin? I see myself looking at you, you’re looking awful, unkempt beard, and clothes… clothes like you’re wearing now. Talk, Merlin, please explain.” There was a pleading in his voice Merlin had never heard before.

“I will,” he said, barely audible, and at that moment he fully realised what just happened. All those years he had been waiting, waiting for Arthur to return, Arthur who was killed by Mordred. All those years he had shut himself off from the world around him, and he had build impenetrable barriers in his mind, making him forget everything and everyone, but there was one thing he had never lost: his faith in Arthur’s return. Mad, they had called him, Merlin the Mad, Merlin the Wild Man of the Woods, but those names he did not recognise any more. “Gaius, we must go to Gaius,” Merlin mumbled, looking nervously around him.

“What happened! I got stabbed, a sword through my body, but there are no wounds anymore! I was lying in a funeral barge, did all of you think I was dead? Were you preparing my funeral by setting the boat alight? Tell me I’m not dead, Merlin, please tell me you weren’t trying to burn me… Tell me how long I was ‘dead’.”

For a moment Merlin closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. Yes, he thought, I must tell him, but how will he take it?

“Arthur,” he said at last, “Arthur, what I’m going to tell you won’t be easy.”

And so Merlin related the whole story to Arthur, omitting nothing save his own involvement as old Emrys, and Arthur was greatly distressed, and he grew more and more astonished at hearing Merlin’s words, for he knew it to be true; and that night he had a vision of the nine sisters speaking to him, telling him all that had happened.

The next day they made their way to Gaius’ cave, resting often, for Arthur was still very weak of limb.

 

*

 

Gaius stood by the entrance of his cave, looking, listening. The smallest sound made him jump: the rustling of leaves, the snapping of a twig, and every time he heard something, he thought that Merlin had come back. For weeks now there had been no sign of him, and Gaius was getting very worried. He has been gone for many weeks on end many times, he thought, I’m sure he’s fine now, he must be, but Gaius had an uneasy feeling as he recalled Merlin’s last words before he left: Arthur is back. He heaved a deep sigh and went inside, obscuring the entrance with thick foliage as he had done for countless times these last few years. But he felt restless and agitated, and the stuffy confines of the cave made him anxious, so he went outside again; and at that moment he heard noises, real noises, people were coming his way. Quickly he went inside, carefully putting the foliage in place, so nobody could detect the entrance. “I’m getting too old for this,” he muttered as he stood near the entrance, trying to hear who were coming, whether they were friend or foe. He dared not move a muscle, and tried to hold his breath. The voices were coming nearer now, he could almost discern the words spoken. “I thought I saw a stream here,” a voice said, “it must be on the other side though.” Footsteps now could be heard, and the clinking of chain mail. Very carefully did Gaius take a step sideways and turned his head. Through the foliage he could just make out shapes, shapes of fully armoured men wearing red cloaks. “There are footsteps here,” one man shouted, “must be from several men, by the look of it. Could be robbers or scoundrels, I don’t know for sure. Their hiding place could be near here. Shall I go and investigate?” Gaius’ heart nearly gave out and he almost fell through the foliage from fright. Then it hit him: they were wearing red cloaks, the colour of Camelot. He ventured another look and he saw a knight aimlessly slashing at some bushes with his sword. On his cloak there was embroidered that all too familiar golden dragon. Gaius felt dizzy and was about to faint. After all these years there came a friend to his dwelling. Thoughts were racing through his mind: are the Saxons finally beaten? Is Camelot safe?

“But suppose they’re Saxons dressed up like Knights of Camelot?” Gaius mumbled, wringing his old and gnarled hands, “They must not find me.” Cautiously he took another look and he let out a gasp, for it was Sir Kay he saw. Tears came to Gaius’ eyes as he stepped outside, startling the knights. With astonishing speed three swords were unsheathed and pointing at Gaius’ chest. No-one moved for a second or two, then Sir Kay said, in a voice filled with disbelief: “Gaius? Is that really you?” and he sheathed his sword, beckoning the rest to do the same. “Gaius?”

“Sir Kay,” was all Gaius could utter, for he could no longer speak from emotion. Kay walked to him and hugged him. “We thought you were dead, it’s so good to see you again. Ywain, meet the venerable Gaius, our court physician, long believed dead.”

“Sir,” Ywain said as he made a small bow and offered Gaius his hand in friendship, ”I have heard so much about you. All good things, I assure you.”

“My dear Gaius, I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you alive and well,” Sir Lamorak said, beaming.

“Merlin, have you seen Merlin?” Gaius asked, “he must be around here somewhere…” and he looked around, hoping to see him walking into view.

“Merlin is alive too?” Kay exclaimed.

“Who’s Merlin,” Ywain said a trifle bored, for he had not heard of someone called by that name.

“Arthur’s servant,” Kay answered, “But Gaius, I still can’t believe it, and Merlin, where’s Merlin?”

“I don’t know, he does that you know, disappear for weeks on end, and now that he…” and his voice trailed away. “But why are you here?” Gaius said, changing the subject, “And how is Guinevere, is she well?”

And Kay related the whole story to Gaius, who grew sadder with every word, and when Kay mentioned that Gwen was locked up in the dungeons, his face turned ashen. “There are thousands of knights and men-at-arms not far from here, ready to retake Camelot,” Kay finally said, “Please come with us, there’s plenty of room in the wagons.”

Gaius nodded, nervously looking around. “Yes… yes.. I might…”

“But you don’t want to go without Merlin, don’t you,” Lamorak said, sensing Gaius’ distress.

Gaius nodded, and at that moment a noise was heard in the foliage, uneven footfalls, panting. The knights quickly unsheathed their swords. Then Merlin emerged, with Arthur leaning on his shoulder, and both Gaius and the knights froze, a look of utter disbelief and bewilderment on their faces. All except Ywain, for he had never seen Arthur nor Merlin.

“Help me get him inside,” Merlin gasped, panting for breath, for they had walked a long distance. Ywain quickly laid Arthur arm around his shoulders and took him inside the cave, followed by Merlin.

“Who are you?” both men asked simultaneously.

“My name is Ywain, Knight of Camelot, and your name be...”

“Merlin, I’m Merlin. And this is Arthur. King Arthur.”

“Arthur?” Ywain exclaimed, “The great king Arthur of whom I have heard so much? But he is believed to be dead, killed by a traitor who went by the name of Mordred.”

But before they could speak again, Gaius, Kay, Lamorak and Gareth came bursting into the cave.

“I told you, Gaius, I told you Arthur was back,” Merlin said without turning around.

“This can’t be,” Lamorak whispered, “You were dead, are dead.”

“There is this prophesy that I know of,” Kay said, “I heard it years ago from the druids. It says that Arthur will rise again when Camelot is in inescapable dire straits, when all seems completely lost. If there ever was a time like that, it’s definitely now…”

And then Ywain who walked over to where Arthur was sitting and he fell on one knee, saying: “My lord, my king. I, Ywain, offer you my sword as I did to queen Guinevere.”

In a corner Gaius was shaking his head, he still couldn’t believe all that was happening. Arthur was indeed well and truly back, and he would finally go to Camelot soon.

 

They all spend the rest of the afternoon outside, so that Arthur could rest after his long and arduous journey. Only Merlin stayed with him, tending him.

And that evening and night there was a lot of talking between Arthur, Lamorak, Kay and Ywain, and the knights thought Arthur should go with them to the waiting army, and to take command, which he graciously accepted. Sleep did not come easy that night, for they all were still overwhelmed with emotion at finding Arthur alive.


	6. Battle

The army was now only a few days’ march from Camelot, and they had erected their camp near the river and the woods. They had met with a few Saxon war-bands, but they had proved no match for the knights. A few Saxons, however, had managed to escape, and king Ban suspected they must have run back to Camelot, undoubtedly warning the Saxons that an army was approaching, that a battle was now unavoidable, thus giving them time to prepare their defences.

On that moonless night a scout came back, all clad in black he was, and his horse had rags tied around his hoofs, so he could gallop in silence. With great haste he went to king Ban’s pavilion, and there he met with his king and the knights of Camelot. “Sire, Sirs,” he said, dispensing with all the small talk, “the postern gate is all blocked up with rubble and masonry, but it can be cleared, give enough men and a few hours’ time. The main gate is heavily defended, but the southern gate is all but deserted. They clearly do not anticipate an attack from the river, but they did put sharpened poles in the riverbed, and chains preventing boats from sailing to the gate.”

“But we will be able to enter Camelot using the southern gate?”

“Yes, Sir Kay, provided someone can lower the drawbridge from the inside.”

And so plans to retake Camelot  were being made.

 

And as the first rays of the sun spilled over the horizon, the Saxons saw a huge army approaching, they saw the ominous trebuchets, their slings filled with stones, firing beams pulled back, ready to bombard the walls of Camelot. Alarm bells sounded, and the Saxons quickly donned their armour, ready to do battle. Great vats of oil were boiling by now, oil to pour over the attackers should they attempt to scale the walls, and many an archer manned the battlements, as well as all the arrow loops, ready to fire their deathly rain of iron-tipped arrows.

And then the trebuchets fired, followed by the arrows of the longbow-men; and the stones were pounding the walls of Camelot, making masonry fly, and there were so many arrows in the air that they all but blocked out the sun. Quickly the trebuchets were loaded for the next volley, and the longbow-men tirelessly fired arrow after arrow, and many Saxons perished.

 

At the postern gate men-at-arms worked relentlessly trying to clear away all the rubble so they could enter Camelot and try and open the southern gate. They had met with no resistance, for every Saxon was called away to defend the northern gate. Sweat streamed down their bodies, for the sun was hot and the men were fully armoured in helmets and mail shirts; but after an hour of hard work, they finally were able to enter the castle. With drawn swords they cautiously walked through the corridors, but they did not encounter any Saxon, nor were they spotted, and they finally reached the southern gate unseen. Quickly they raised the portcullis, opened the heavy gate and lowered the drawbridge. Hundreds of fully armed knights and foot soldiers, led by Arthur, streamed into the castle grounds and made their way to the northern gate. The Saxons realised too late the danger they were in, and many fell as the knights made their swords perform their deadly dance, and swung their spiked maces in devastating arcs; and Roland, squire to Sir Kay, and many other squires besides, could be seen lowering the drawbridge and opening the heavy northern gate, and hundreds upon hundreds of armoured knights and men-at-arms came storming in. Fierce fighting ensued, but the Saxons found themselves hugely outnumbered, and those trying to flee, like the scuttling rats they were, were quickly being put to the sword, and still more and more knights and men-at-arms came rushing in. King Maleagant witnessed everything from the window in the Great Hall, refusing to do battle like the coward he was, and he was filled with uncontrollable anger and fear, but before he could make his escape, Sir Gaharis came storming into the Hall, sword drawn, and the sharp steel hit Maleagant on his head, cleaving through helm and coif. “That’s for killing my squire,” Gaharis said as Maleagant hit the floor, and instantly his life fled from him.

 

*

 

That day there was great rejoicing in Camelot, as the few remaining Saxons were, with much jeering and spitting, driven from their beloved kingdom, so they could spread the tale of an even stronger Camelot and all its vigilant allies, a tale of an unconquerable Albion, a warning to all; but there was also great sadness as every citizen and every knight remembered those who had perished under the short, but ruthless Saxon occupation. And so did Arthur access the throne of Camelot once more.

And soon all the dungeons were thrown open, and the prisoners were set free for they were all innocent citizens of Camelot.

The Knights went to Gwen’s little dungeon, and the honour of opening the grille fell to Sir Gareth; and soon everybody was overwhelmed with unbounded joy at seeing each other alive and well again. There was, however, no Arthur to be seen, nor Gaius or Merlin, for Gaius felt that the shock would be too great for Gwen, and so Gaius and the knights carefully prepared her first for the no doubt emotional reunion with her husband.

And when they finally saw each other, Gwen and Arthur were all but fainting from a happiness beyond all description, and they fell into each other’s arms, but there is no need to relate their feelings here.

 

*

 

Arthur roamed the now all but empty corridors of Camelot and mourned the loss of so many good and loyal knights. Never again, he thought, this must never happen again, and he opened a door at random, only to find nothing but broken furniture inside. Slowly he made his way to the Great Hall. After the defeat of the Saxons, many valiant men-at-arms had asked to be allowed to remain behind, to become a Knight of Camelot, and their kings had graciously given their consent, for they all saw the need for a strong Camelot. Arthur’s footfalls sounded loud and hollow, like he was walking through a charnel house, for the Saxons had taken all the tapestries from the walls, leaving nothing but an empty shell, dead and crumbling. As he stood before the doors of the Great Hall, he heaved a deep sigh and entered. There was assembled a great number of men, all cheering and shouting “For the love of Camelot!”

“Today will be the beginning of a new Camelot, a strong Camelot,” Arthur said, “And not only that, but today will also be the beginning of the United Kingdoms of Albion.” His words met with great cheer. “For we have now seen what can be achieved when all our kingdoms unite. You are all gathered here, all wanting to become a Knight of Camelot---” More cheers erupted. “---and for that I give thanks.” With these words Arthur walked to an empty chair, and laid his hands on the backrest. “But first I decree that this chair will remain empty forever, for this used to be Gwaine’s chair, and no one will ever be allowed to sit in it or remove it as long as Camelot stands.” His eyes misted over, and his words met with great acclamation. “For Gwaine,” they all shouted, lifting their goblets in a salute. “Tomorrow you will start your training. Lamorak, Kay, Gareth, Gaharis, Ywain, you will each take an equal number of men under your command. But you must remember one thing: if you’re not good enough, you will not be dubbed a Knight of Camelot. But I have every faith you all will pass all the tests! And now I must attend to another pressing matter. I will be in my chambers, not to be disturbed.” And as Arthur left the hall, a deafening “For the love of Camelot” reverberated off the walls. “Send Gaius to my chambers,” he said to a guard, as he left the Great Hall.


	7. Suspicions

“Gaius,” Arthur said as both men were alone in Arthur’s chambers, “I want you to resume your duties as court physician, if you want to of course.”

For a moment Gaius did not speak, but then his lips cracked open in a grateful smile and he said: “I would love nothing more, Sire, thank you.”

“Good, that’s settled then,” Arthur said, “I hope your chambers won’t be too much damaged. Please let me know if you need anything replaced.”

Gaius bowed, saying “Thank you, Sire,” once more, and slowly he shuffled towards the door, a smile still on his lips. After years of hardship he finally was able to go back to his beloved old chambers, to see his books once more, his salves and ointments, his leeches.

“Merlin is a sorcerer, isn’t he,” came Arthur’s voice as Gaius was about to open the door. Gaius’ whole body stiffened as Arthur’s words hit him like a battering-ram, his hands shook with sudden fright. It took all his willpower to remain calm as he answered, still clutching the door-handle: “I wouldn’t know, Sire.”

“Yes you do, Gaius, I know you do.”

Gaius closed his eyes and he gripped the door handle so tightly now that his knuckles turned white and the cold steel of the handle bit painfully into his flesh.

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t hurt him. In fact, I was thinking of lifting the ban on sorcery. Good sorcery that is.”

Gaius head turned around slowly, his hands still holding the door handle for support. “Sire, Merlin is no sorcerer, and if he was, I surely would have known,” he whispered, his eyes downcast, afraid to look at Arthur.

“Get Merlin in here,” Arthur said to a guard. The man bowed and hurried away. Gaius said nothing, the whole world seemed to spin, and he was sweating profusely now. He felt cold and hot at the same time, feeling like a scared rabbit waiting for the knife to cut his throat. Arthur gently took Gaius’ arm and led him to a chair. “Please sit, Gaius, you look unwell. So much has happened, so much to take in.”

Gaius remained silent. The door opened and Merlin entered, a puzzled look on his now clean shaven face. He saw Gaius slumped in a chair, and he said worryingly: “Gaius, are you alright? You look sick.”

“I’m fine, Merlin, just a bit fatigued,” he managed to answer, trying to smile. How he wished with all his heart he could tell Merlin of Arthur’s plan to allow magic back in Camelot, but it was not his place to relate such news, not in front of Arthur.

“Merlin, are you a sorcerer?” Arthur asked without preamble.

Merlin’s heart leaped in his throat. “A sorcerer?” he squeaked, “Me? Oh no, no, no, no, no! I can’t… I mean… Me…?” and he kept stammering, arms flapping. “I’ve been cleaning your armour for years, if I had magic, I wouldn’t have worked my fingers to the bone, I could have cleaned it with one click of my fingers. No, no, no, I’m no sorcerer! Ha! Gaius, am I a sorcerer?”

“Arthur did ask me the same thing,” Gaius said, trying to sound calm, “but I would have known surely---” but before he could say anything more, Merlin was jabbering away again.

All the while did Arthur not say anything, but he kept looking at Merlin, his face unreadable. “I remember Camlann,” Arthur finally said, interrupting Merlin’s incoherent stuttering. “I know what I saw, Merlin, I saw magic performed. There was an old guy there, but he wasn’t really old, it was you, wasn’t he, Merlin. I know it was. Everything shimmered for just a second, and I clearly saw your face.” And Arthur’s cold, blue eyes bored into Merlin’s, holding him transfixed in an almost hypnotical stare. Merlin kept silent, wiping his sweaty palms on his tunic, wiping his wet forehead with his sleeve.

“I already told Arthur you couldn’t possibly a sorcerer,” Gaius said.

“No!, I’m not!” and Merlin’s voice rose another octave, “Look at me, how can I… A sorcerer? No, no, not me…,” fidgeting all the time with his hair, his ears, his tunic, his belt. The air was heavy with tension now, enveloping everything in a thick, oppressive blanket of dense and impenetrable fog. No one spoke for what seemed like ages. Then Arthur said softly: “I saw it, Merlin, don’t bother denying it any longer. I saw you performing magic.”

“Sire,” came the soft voice of Gaius, “you were wounded, Sire, mortally wounded. The shock, the pain… you surely were delirious, Sire, making you see things. Pain and loss of blood will do that to a man, any man. It plays tricks on the mind, Sire, as I know from professional experience.”

Arthur said nothing, but kept his eyes on Merlin.

“That’s it, I’m sure that’s it,” Merlin exclaimed far too loud.

“I won’t execute you, Merlin, I’m not like my father. Now I’m asking you one last time, and if I find out you’ve been lying to me…” Arthur didn’t finish the sentence, but let the words hovering threateningly in the air. “Are you a sorcerer or not, and I urge you to answer truthfully.”

“No, Sire,” Merlin whispered, eyes downcast.

“I’m still not convinced, Merlin, but for the time being we will leave it at that. Now you can go and polish my armour I saw lying in the Great Hall. It hasn’t been cleaned for five years, you know…” Merlin all but ran from Arthur’s chambers. “You may go too, Gaius, I think Merlin and you may need each other now. Take some rest, and think about what happened just now.”

“Thank you, Sire,” Gaius said in a faltering voice, and he too left Arthur’s chambers, still trembling.

“I saw it all before I got stabbed,” Arthur whispered softly the moment the door closed, “There’s something about you, Merlin, and one day I will find out…”

 

**Here ends the first part of _The Day Camelot Fell_.**

**Soon to be continued...**


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